


Tessitura

by frostandcrow



Series: Espansivo [2]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Domesticity, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Seriously folks vaccinate your children, Snuggling for warmth, and your galactic space travelers, canon-typical Rita-saves-the-day subplot, malaria-esque fever syndrome, merciless anti-vaxxer shade, more discussions about relationships, sick!Juno, snuggling for comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-29 17:53:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18299192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostandcrow/pseuds/frostandcrow
Summary: Shortly after the art gallery heist, Juno and Peter find themselves trapped on an Outer Rim planet, Juno suffers a consequence of interplanetary travel, and Peter and Juno finally stop dancing around their issues.





	Tessitura

**Author's Note:**

> This is a continuation of my last fic, Appoggiatura, and takes place hard on the heels of that one. The inspiration for this came from my dissatisfaction with how Appoggiatura ended, so hopefully I can make amends with this.
> 
> Please see End Notes for trigger warnings.

Victor Vasiliev sighed loudly and ostentatiously checked his watch. The poorly lit room with its gray, windowless walls provided little in the way of distraction and the cold, steel chair under him was growing more uncomfortable by the minute. 

 

He looked out of place in the prison receiving area in his expensive suit, but he supposed most lawyers probably did. 

 

Just as he was about to demand to know what the hold up was, the locks to the heavy door opposite him clanged and his client walked into the room, handcuffed and shackled and escorted by two burly guards. 

 

The man looked gaunt, the unhealthy pallor in his face made more dramatic by the fever-bright flush across his upper cheekbones. However, his gaze was still sharp, and his eye widened in shock as it met Victor’s.

 

“Why is he still shackled?” Victor asked, cutting off any potential comment from the shackled man.

 

A man in a cheap, ill-fitted suit entered the room between the three men. Victor assumed he was the prison warden. “Well, you see, this is highly…irregular, Mr Vasiliev.”

 

“You have the paperwork you need. I don’t see what the issue is. At this point, you are detaining a man against his will and without legal recourse. If he remains shackled and in your custody a moment longer, I will not hesitate to bring the full force of the law _and_ my law firm—the biggest in the city, I must add—down upon _you_ , personally.” He took advantage of his height to look imperiously down his nose at the man. “Now, release him at once.”

 

The ill-besuited man fixed Victor with a glare. Victor met his eyes unflinchingly. Finally, the warden turned to the guards and said, grudgingly. “Release him.”

 

The client had watched the conversation, eye darting back and forth between the two men, clearly confused. Victor assumed his confusion was due to more than the fact that he probably didn’t speak a word of Phosphian. He was grateful that the man kept his confusion to himself and cooperated as the guards set about removing his restraints.

 

“I’m surprised a firm like yours is doing charity work,” the warden sneered. “Especially for filthy outsiders. Oh, and I supposed I should let you know that there’s a very good chance he has the Scrag.”

 

“Yes, well, I imagine that could have been prevented had you chosen to vaccinate him when he came into your custody. Just as I assume he would be in much better shape had you chosen to give him the medical care and attention that every human deserves, alleged ‘criminal’ or not.”

 

“We’re under siege, you righteous ass. I barely have the resources to support the Phosphians here. He should have vaccinated himself before deciding to infest our planet.”

 

“If only more of us were as close-minded as you, I’m sure we wouldn’t be in this mess. You, sir, are the paragon of virtue.” Victor ignored the flush of rage rising to the man’s face and turned to address his client in Solar, “Sir, your case has been brought to the attention of my firm and, on review, we have determined that you have been detained unlawfully. You are free to leave. Oh,” he reached into his breast pocket, “here is my card if you wish to press charges for unlawful detainment.”

 

The man took the card automatically, face blank.

 

“Now,” Victor said, switching back to Phosphian and addressing the three other men in the room, “We will be taking our leave.” He placed his hand gently on his client’s arm and escorted him out of the room and into a long, empty hallway.

 

“Nureyev—“ the man began in a low undertone. 

 

“Shhh, not now. We’re not quite clear yet.”

 

Juno remained silent as they walked past the security checkpoint. Peter ignored the suspicious looks the two guards were surely aiming at their backs as they walked out the door into the artificial blue crystalline light of Phosphic Five’s underground “sky.” 

 

Peter’s car—a sleek, sporty thing and possibly removed from its previous owner just that morning—was parked close to the entrance and he opened the passenger door to allow Juno to climb in. Just as he closed the door, he heard shouting from within the building.

 

“Well, that’s my cue, I suppose,” he said to himself as he ran to the driver’s side, threw himself into the seat, and took off, tires squealing on the asphalt. 

 

————————————————————————————

 

An hour and two cars later, they pulled into the parking lot of a condominium complex on the outskirts of the downtown area. 

 

Peter looked over at Juno. His pallor had worsened during the worst of the chase; unfortunately, Peter had been unable to avoid making quick hairpin turns, sudden accelerations, and rapid elevation changes in his efforts to lose the police. He had successfully lost the last of the pursuers about twenty minutes ago and had been able to drive much more sedately since. “Are you feeling better?”

 

Juno swallowed and then nodded his head. He looked around. “Where the hell are we?”

 

“Home,” said Peter, brightly. “Well, at least for now.”

 

Juno stared at the dashboard in front of him. “What…the _hell_ is going on?” he asked, shakily.

 

Peter sighed. “That’s quite the conversation. Let’s go inside. I’ll make us something to eat and we can talk. Are you up for a bit of a walk? Our actual destination is about two blocks away.”

 

“Yeah, I can make it.”

 

They walked at a slower speed than Peter would have preferred, but he did not note anyone paying them undo attention. Still, to be safe, they took the circuitous route to their destination: a dilapidated apartment complex with a unit that had been abandoned about a week before Peter arrived to Phosphic Five and now, thanks to a late-night romp through their computer records, was now leased by a “Tsezar Stepanov” with rent paid out six months in advance. 

 

Unfortunately, it was on the fourth floor and, since the Strat Net had been deployed by Phosphic Five’s neighbor planet, Calcia, efforts to help the planet conserve its resources had resulted in some cutbacks, including the energy needed to power the elevator.

 

Juno tackled the journey without complaint, though Peter assumed this was mostly in an effort to conserve his breath. 

 

“Well, here we are. Home sweet home,” he chimed, opening the door and allowing Juno to proceed him through it. 

 

“Nice place,” Juno said, tiredly. “When are we getting back to the ship?” Peter studied him for a moment. “What?” Juno asked.

 

“Juno, how much do you know about the current state of Phosphic Five?”

 

“All I know is that I’ve been here for over a month, I don’t speak a word of Phosphian, and their prison system is just as corrupt as Hyperion City’s, only in the other direction. Now what the _hell_ is going on? Why do you have an apartment? Where’s Rita?” He grabbed the back of the kitchen chair in front of him to steady himself, his breathing becoming more ragged. 

 

Peter put his hand on Juno’s hunched back, feeling the minute tremors. “Sit down, Juno,” he coaxed.

 

“No, dammit!” Juno shouted, throwing Peter’s arm off, breathing getting more rapid. “Tell me what is going on!”

 

“Alright.” Hoping to lead by example, Peter pulled out the second chair at the table and took a seat. He paused for a moment, trying to organize his thoughts, before beginning. “You recall the peculiar nature of Phosphic Five’s atmosphere, which prevents most ships from being able to enter it in one piece? And that, because of this, ships dock at one of several space-ports in the exosphere and travelers are ferried to and from the planet by way of a special shuttle built to withstand the magnetic, radiologic, and gravitational hazards?”

 

“Yes, Nureyev, I’m suffering from ignorance, not amnesia,” he spat, pulling out a chair and sitting as well.

 

“Of course. Well, while the crew and I were waiting for you to arrive at one such port from our recent shore-leave—the data chip you had been instrumental in retrieving from Dionysus Kent was successfully delivered into safer hands, you’ll be happy to hear—Phosphic Five was attacked by its neighbor, Calcia.” Peter looked down at his hands. “I’m so sorry Juno. We had no warning.”

 

“Nureyev…what the hell are you talking about?”

 

“Calcia has ensnared Phosphic Five in a Strat Net, an exquisitely sensitive, exquisitely precise laser system that acts as a one-way valve, preventing land-to-space travel.”

 

Juno considered this for a moment. “You mean…no one can leave?”

 

“Yes. Objects can pass planetward through the net, but once on Phosphic Five, they can’t leave. The Calcians have employed this strategy to interrupt the Phosphian Mochnost Crystal trade, hoping to eventually choke their economy. The one-way nature of the laser system allows them to eventually send military might, bioweapons, saboteurs, et ceterra, to help speed the collapse. Though,” he added as an afterthought, “I have not heard of any such operations yet.”

 

“But…you’re here. Did you get stuck, too?”

 

“No, I was at the port when the Net went up.”

 

A thought seemed to hit Juno and he asked, frantically, “What about Rita?”

 

“Don’t worry, Juno,” Peter said, gently, “She’s safe. You were the only one of us still planet-side when this happened.”

 

Juno slumped into his chair, relieved. “Oh, thank god.”

 

Peter surveyed Juno, wan and haggard. “Now, I suspect you could do with a good meal and some sleep, Detective.” He stood up and went into the kitchen.

 

“I’m fine,” came the predictable reply. “We need to discuss how we’re going to get out of here.”

 

“Yes, but I imagine it will be more fruitful to have that conversation when you’re not dead on your feet.” Peter returned to the table, setting a glass of water in front of Juno. “The warden mentioned that you’ve been ill?”

 

Juno shrugged, wrapping his hands around the glass, “Just a cold.”

 

“Well, all the more reason to take it easy for a bit.” Peter returned to the kitchen to scrounge up a meal with the meager contents of his kitchen. Most of his past month had been spent trying to find Juno and then, once this was accomplished, figuring how to spring him from the prison. He hadn’t had much time to indulge in sophisticated cooking. 

 

“How did you know where to find me?” Juno called. 

 

Peter leaned backwards slightly so he could see Juno through the kitchen door. “Well, I figured there’d be a bit of xenophobia in the aftermath of what is essentially a large-scale embargo.” He went back to measuring some water to boil. “You don’t speak the language and don’t have any citizenship papers. The detainment of thousands of people unlucky enough to be stranded on Phosphic Five after the Strat Net was deployed has featured quite heavily in the headlines. I figured monitoring the prison system for you would be the best way to find you. It was either that or search the morgues and, given how resourceful and determined you are, I didn’t think that would be worth my time.”

 

Juno snorted. “Flattery will get you nowhere.” 

 

Peter set the pan on the stove and went back into the dining room while he waited for it to boil. He grabbed Juno’s empty glass.

 

“I can get my own water, Nureyev,” Juno said, grabbing for the glass as well, cold fingers wrapped around Peter’s. 

 

Peter sighed remembering their captivity in the Martian tomb and how fussy and resistant to assistance Juno became when he was hurting. “Yes, Juno. I don’t doubt it, but I’m already up and _you_ sounded like you were going to tell me what _will_ get me somewhere, if not flattery.”

 

Juno’s eye widened slightly in shock. Taking advantage of that reaction, Peter gently pulled the glass from Juno’s grasp and returned to the kitchen to fill it. He felt a small twinge of guilt at that comment. He had made a promise to Juno—and himself—that he wouldn’t push Juno in any matter that bordered on their relationship; that, if there was any relationship left to salvage, it would happen at Juno’s pace. 

 

The thought that followed—that the last time he had pushed too hard had been right after a period of captivity—hit him like a punch to the gut. 

 

“Nureyev?” Juno called. Peter snapped back to awareness and realized the glass was overflowing with water from the tap. He shut the faucet off and returned the glass to Juno. 

 

“Thanks,” he said, not meeting Peter’s eyes. It didn’t appear he was going to address Peter’s comment, though Peter didn’t know if that was for the better or not. “Is dinner going to be long? I’m dying for a shower…”

 

“Of course. The bathroom is through the bedroom. I’ll grab you a towel.”

 

By the time Peter had gathered a towel and scrounged up some warm clothes for sleeping, the shower was already running. Phosphic Five was pervasively chilly and the apartment tended to get colder at night for a reason that Peter hadn’t quite figured out given that the planet’s civilization was several miles below the uninhabitable surface. He left the supplies on the toilet seat and went back to the kitchen, trying to ignore the lingering guilt over his reckless comment.

 

Juno eventually emerged from the shower, drowning in Peter’s sweats but looking like a simple shower had gone quite a ways to helping him to feel better. They sat at the table, two bowls of steaming oatmeal before them. 

 

They ate in silence, each seemingly absorbed in his own thoughts. Juno’s bowl was mostly empty when Peter noticed that he appeared to be fighting to keep his eye open. 

 

“C’mon,” Peter said, coaxing him to stand. “Let’s get you to bed.”

 

Juno rubbed at his eye and stifled a yawn. “Sorry. I haven’t had a warm meal in ages. Or a warm shower.”

 

“Yes, I suspected as much,” Peter replied, gently. He allowed himself to place his hand at the small of Juno’s back to guide him to the bedroom. “And a warm bed will complete the trifecta.” He pulled back his duvet and the sheets and watched as Juno got into bed. “I will be in the living room if you need anything, Juno.”

 

“Wait, you’re…sleeping on the couch?” he asked, voice already muzzy.

 

“Yes. Please, don’t try to argue. You won’t win.”

 

“Whatever,” came the mumbled reply as Peter turned off the light. He suspected that Juno was asleep before he’d finished closing the door. 

 

—————————————————————————

 

Later that night, Peter wished he would have put more stock into the warden’s off-hand comment about Scrag. Peter had, at the time, assumed referencing the disease was meant as a cheap ploy calculated to make a high-powered lawyer think twice about coming into contact with a diseased body. Juno had looked fine earlier that evening. Exhausted, malnourished, and twitchy, maybe but he didn’t show signs of the disease known throughout the Outer Rim as “Scrag.”

 

Then again, Peter realized he had only a passing familiarity of the disease, long since immune to it himself through contracting it when he was a very young child, like the majority of children living on Outer Rim planets. He hadn’t had much cause to see it manifest in adults. 

 

He was awoken in the extremely early hours of the morning to the sound of rustling fabric coming from his room. He drifted in light doze for a while before realizing that, if Juno had merely been trying to get comfortable or had gotten up for some reason, the rustling should have stopped shortly after starting. 

 

He woke up fully and lay there listening to the continued rustling. Then, he heard a moan and he realized that there was another reason why a person would be restless in bed. 

 

He stood and turned on the living room light. He wasn’t surprised that Juno’s sleep would be fraught with nightmares after spending the better part of a month in an Outer Rim prison. 

 

He knocked gently on the door before nudging it open, an excuse of needing to go to the bathroom ready on his tongue should Juno awaken from just that. When there was no indication that Juno had awoken, he entered the room fully. It was too dark to make out the details, but, sure enough, Juno appeared to be writhing in the bed. 

 

“Juno,” Peter called softly, walking to the nightstand to turn on the light. “Juno, it’s alright. You’re safe.” 

 

A soft light suffused the room, allowing him to see that Juno was still asleep and, going by his contorted expression, clearly in the midst of a nightmare. “Juno, wake up,” he coaxed, placing his hand on Juno’s shoulder and then quickly snatching it back.

 

Despite the thick material of the sweatshirt, Peter could tell that Juno was burning up.

 

“Juno,” he tried again, more urgently, using both hands to gently rouse Juno. Juno only appeared to become more distressed and started to moan more loudly. Realizing that this approach was only making the situation worse, Peter switched tactics. Several minutes later found him sat against the headboard of his bed, Juno’s head in his lap, the heat from it burning into his thigh. After about a minute of gently stroking his hand through Juno’s hair, the feverish man had calmed somewhat, though still appeared mildly restless. 

 

Peter idly wished he had something to help with the fever, but then he realized that trying to force medicine down a semi-conscious person’s throat would likely lead to choking. At this point, his only option was to wait it out and try not to think about the fact that adults generally didn’t tolerate Scrag as easily as younger children did.

 

————————————————————————————

 

Something was shaking his thigh and, between that and the brighter light coming in through the window—the Phosphic Five’s method of simulating day to its underground inhabitants—Peter realized that he would be unable to drop back off to sleep. 

 

Then, the events of last night came back to him and he was suddenly quite awake. He was still mostly sitting upright against the headboard. He looked down at Juno, no longer with his head in Peter’s lap so much as curled against the side of his hip. At one point, Juno had regained enough awareness that Peter had been able to coax him out of his sweatshirt and pants to help bring his temperature down. Now, Juno, clad only in a pair of boxers, lay shivering violently at Peter’s side. The sheets under him and the majority of the leg of Peter’s own sweatpants were drenched in sweat. 

 

Peter laid his hand on Juno’s shoulder, relieved to feel that the skin was relatively cold, if a bit clammy.

 

“Juno?” he asked, softly. 

 

“Mmmm? Wha—“

 

“Shh, it’s okay. You’re safe.”

 

“‘M cold,” he muttered, as his arm groped listlessly for covers that weren’t there, and recoiled as he patted a spot wet from sweat. He opened his eye and squinted up at Peter. “Nureyev, what—“

 

“It’s okay,” Peter repeated. “Let’s get you cleaned up and dry and we’ll talk.”

 

“Yeah, sure,” Juno acquiesced before closing his eye.

 

Peter eased out of the bed, stretching his back as he walked towards his dresser. He didn’t own many clothes and he figured that, if Juno truly had Scrag, he’d be doing laundry quite a bit over the next few days. 

 

It took a bit of encouragement to get Juno to wake up enough for him to strip out of his boxers and into a clean pair of loose pants and threadbare T-shirt. Peter wrapped him in the duvet, which had been spared the drenching sweat thanks to Peter removing it from the bed to help control Juno’s fever—a happy bit of unintentional foresight—and escorted him to the couch while he returned to the bed to strip the sheets. 

 

This done, he returned to the living room, glass of water in hand, and sat down next to the bundled-up form of Juno, already half-way to dozing.

 

Juno perked up when he felt the couch cushions shift and took the glass gratefully and quickly drained it. He took smaller, more measured sips from the second glass that Peter brought him.

 

“Feeling better?”

 

Juno rubbed at his face. “Than what? I don't even know what my baseline is supposed to be anymore.”

 

“Well, you were in quite a state last night.”

 

“Is that why you took off my clothes?” Juno glanced at him, the slight upward tilt at the corner of his mouth mitigating any unfortunate implication the words might have otherwise had.

 

“I assure you, Juno, my intention was purely to keep your marvelous brain from frying.”

 

Juno sagged back into the cushions, tugging the duvet further around him. “What’s going on with me? What is this?” he asked plaintively.

 

“I believe you’ve been afflicted with a case of Scrag. It’s a well-known infection endemic to most Outer Rim planets. Most of us born in the Outer Rim contracted it when we were toddlers. Those that don’t are often vaccinated because it can be quite dangerous when acquired during adulthood.”

 

“I…got a rash about a week ago. Around my neck. I assumed it was some prison parasite or something.” He rubbed at his neck and said, more softly, “That’s when they put me in solitary. Even after the rash faded.”

 

Peter plucked the empty glass from Juno’s hold and walked back to the kitchen, saying as he went, “A neck rash is a classic sign of Scrag, hence the name. I suppose they were trying to quarantine you. If only they made a practice of vaccinating their prisoners, I doubt they’d have as much reason to worry.”

 

“Yeah, humane treatment didn’t seem to be high on their agenda.”

 

Peter returned and pressed the glass back into Juno’s hands. “Juno—“ he said gently, trying to meet Juno’s eye.

 

“Thanks for the water,” Juno quickly interrupted. “At this rate, I’m probably gonna spend all day peeing.” 

 

“I doubt it. I suspect most of the water in your body is currently soaking my sheets.”

 

“Yeah, sorry…I’ll—“

 

“You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about and you’ll do nothing other than eat and sleep.” And then, because he couldn’t help himself, Peter added, “And urinate.”

 

Juno snorted in amusement. “It’s weird. I think I had a fever like that the night before you came for me. At least, the only part I really remember was waking up drenched in sweat.”

 

“Ah. Yes. I suppose I should have mentioned the more salient feature of Scrag. It’s a quotidian fever syndrome.”

 

“Nureyev, I’m not a walking dictionary.”

 

“It’s a fever that occurs daily, a cyclic fever syndrome.”

 

“Oh. Fantastic.”

 

“All the more reason to stay hydrated, eat well, and get as much rest as you can. Now, I think we could both do with some breakfast. I need to run to the store. Will you be okay on your own for a bit?”

 

“Yeah, ‘slong as no one comes by to ask for my papers,” Juno said around a huge yawn.

 

“They shouldn’t. But just in case, don’t answer the door.”

 

————————————————————————————————

 

The day passed peacefully with Juno on the couch, napping off and on and Peter engrossed in forging documents that would hopefully keep Juno out of the prison system should he gather undue attention in the future.

 

Given what he knew about Juno, he figured it would only be a matter of time before that happened.

 

They had just finished eating dinner when Peter observed, “Juno, you’re shaking.”

 

Juno hunched further into himself. “Yeah. Just a bit chilled.” His attempt to bat Peter’s hand away from his forehead was delayed. “Will you stop it?” he groused.

 

“Hmm, I’m afraid that you’re starting to spike a fever again.”

 

“Yeah, I figured,” he said, resignedly. “And, what the hell, I thought you said that this happened daily.”

 

“It does. Usually. What’s your point?” Peter picked up Juno’s half-eaten plate and carried it to the kitchen along with his own. 

 

“I had one this morning, or did you already forget about your soaked sheets?”

 

“Juno, our bodies don’t have time pieces. Fevers won’t be exactly twenty-four hours apart,” Peter chided gently. “Now, to the couch with you. I’ll make up the bed.”

 

“Why, so I can sweat through your sheets again? What’s the point?” 

 

“I do have a washing machine, you know.”

 

“Yeah. Still. Just seems stupid is all.”

 

Peter, able to recognize when Juno was being contrary just for contrariness’ sake, smiled indulgently, “Yes, well, fevers often are. Now, up you come.” He helped Juno stand, the latter groaning as he rose. They stood there for a moment as Juno found his equilibrium. 

 

“Dizzy?” Peter asked.

 

“How could you tell?” 

 

Peter ignored the sarcastic response and went to retrieve another glass of water from the kitchen. Juno’s reaction was as expected.

 

“God, Nureyev. How much water do you think a lady needs to drink in a day?”

 

“Dizziness upon standing is an early sign of dehydration. If you’d like to keep your kidneys, you need to stay hydrated.”

 

Juno rolled his eye. “Sure thing, _Doctor_.”

 

Peter sighed and went to retrieve the sheets from the dryer. 

 

———————————————————————————

 

That night found Peter in the same situation as the night before: awoken by the sounds of feverish restlessness coming from the bedroom. 

 

He briefly considered going back to sleep. Juno’s fever would eventually break regardless of what he did. He dismissed the thought almost as soon as it occurred. 

 

Sighing, he stood, grabbed a damp washcloth from the kitchen, and went to provide what little comfort he could manage for Juno in his semiconscious state.

 

It took longer for this fever to break than it did the night before. Peter tried not to think on the implications of this too hard.

 

————————————————————————————

 

“Juno, I’m home,” Peter called out, arms ladened with shopping bags, using his foot to kick the door closed behind him. The Juno-sized lump was still lying on the couch, buried under the duvet where Peter had left him about an hour before, though it appeared that, at some point, the lump in question had decided to turn on the TV. 

 

Peter went to put the newly purchased bed sheets and clothes for Juno into the washer. As much as he secretly enjoyed seeing Juno wearing his clothes, he figured that they were going through enough laundry at the moment that it wouldn’t hurt to have spares on hand. 

 

 He went to join Juno on the couch, taking a seat on the edge, his hip touching Juno’s curled-up form. To Peter’s surprise, he appeared to be awake, staring blankly at the news stream currently playing in a language Juno didn’t understand. Peter lay his hand on the blanket over Juno’s shoulder. “I’m about to start lunch. Can I get you anything for now?”

 

Juno just continued to stare at the stream. 

 

“Juno?” Peter repeated, shaking his shoulder, slightly.

 

Juno’s eye sluggishly traveled to Peter’s face. “Hmmm?” 

 

“Juno, you look terrible.”

 

“No…jus’ cold,” came the miserable reply as he attempted to burrow further into the blanket.

 

Peter laid his hand on Juno’s forehead. He wasn’t sure if it was the heat emanating from it or the lack of irritability at such an action that worried him more. Such a contest was rather moot, though, given that the thing that worried him the most was that Juno’s last fever had broken barely twelve hours prior. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

 

As he escorted a half-asleep Juno back to the bedroom, he tried not to think what the fevers occurring more frequently could mean. 

 

Then, as Juno spent the next three days alternating almost hourly between being insensate and writhing from high fever to near comatose from exhaustion, Peter found himself living at his own wit’s end with worry and frustration at his inability to do more than fret and take what measures he could to ensure Juno didn’t overcook his brain. 

 

——————————————————————————————

 

Peter ascended from a deep, dreamless sleep slowly, savoring the warmth of his bed while he floated aimlessly in a dozing state. Reality, along with its responsibilities and stresses, existed somewhere outside this state and though they nudged at its borders, he found it easy to push them gently back and continuing drowsing. 

 

As is characteristic of existing in that state, he wasn’t certain how long he floated before his mind drifted to Juno.

 

He came awake suddenly, heart pounding. 

 

He flailed for a moment in disorientation. The last thing he remembered was bathing Juno’s brow with a moist cloth as fever wracked through his body. At that point, Juno had been so physically exhausted that he had mostly just lain still, occasionally muttering or moaning incomprehensible syllables. 

 

At some point between then and now, he must have slid down the headboard, which he had spent the previous three days propped against, to lay curled onto his side. 

 

And apparently, he had managed to curl himself around Juno. 

 

Contrary to the past few days, Juno lay still in his arms, breathing the deep, even breathing of sleep. 

 

Peter, trying not to let his hope flare too early, slowly brought his hand up to brush against Juno’s forehead. It was cool and dry. He let out a sigh of relief that sounded very close to a sob. Unthinking, he hugged the body in his arms closer to his chest. 

 

Juno stirred and Peter stilled, hoping he hadn’t woken him, which led to the delayed realization of how damning his current position was.

 

The selfish part of Peter urged him to ignore courtesy and consideration and to allow himself this intimacy. However, he had made a promise to Juno and he figured that Juno waking up from a severe illness to assume that Peter had taken advantage of his vulnerability would destroy any trust Juno had in him. 

 

He slowly started to snake his arm out from under Juno’s shoulder. Juno shifted slightly and sighed softly. Peter went absolutely still. Juno, however, shifted again, this time closer to Peter’s chest. 

 

“Wha…”

 

Figuring he was caught and that there was no point in further attempts at stealth, Peter started to withdraw his arm. “I’m so sorry, Juno.”

 

“Nureyev?”

 

“Yes, Juno, I’m here.” Arm freed, he started to shift away from Juno.

 

“Wait,” Juno said, voice slurred from sleep. Peter paused. “Finally warm.”

 

It took only a second for Peter to parse out the meaning of the fragmented sentence. His heart broke slightly as he gave in and curled back around Juno. Then, cautiously, he snaked his arms around Juno’s chest, pulling him tighter into the curl of his body. Juno sighed contentedly and Peter felt him relax as he dropped back off to sleep.

 

Peter was only a minute behind him.

 

————————————————————————————

 

The light coming in through the window was starting to simulate that of late evening when Peter next awoke. Neither he nor Juno appeared to have shifted. He gave in and let himself relish the comfort and warmth of the body against his.

 

Just as he was starting to doze off again, he felt Juno stiffen suddenly.

 

“Nureyev?” he asked, voice still tired, but the most clear it had been in nearly four days. 

 

“Yes?”

 

“I…” his voice drifted off, hesitantly.

 

Realization, followed quickly by guilt, hit Peter hard. “Oh!” He started to remove his arms from around Juno and shifted slightly away, realizing that Juno’s consent to snuggle had been given in an impaired state. “Juno, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to impose, I just—“ he cut himself off before he could issue an excuse. He already felt sick enough as it was. He started to extricate himself from the covers.

 

“Wait.” Juno had rolled onto his other side to face Peter. He looked as if there were several seconds of lag-time in his processing abilities. “What are you doing?”

 

It was a broad question and Peter wasn’t quite sure what Juno was specifically asking about.  “Clearly making an ass of myself.”

 

“Just…get back here,” Juno sighed, rubbing at his face tiredly, “Lookin’ up at you ’s making my neck hurt.”

 

Peter hesitated.

 

“Peter.”

 

Sighing, Peter relented and slid back between the sheets and lay on his back, keeping space between him and Juno. Staring up at the ceiling, Peter asked, hesitantly, “How are you feeling?”

 

“Peachy.” Juno reached up to tug the blanket more snugly around his shoulder. “My muscles haven’t hurt this bad since that time my body was hijacked by my Soul, I feel like control of my limbs is operating on more of a suggestion-basis at the moment, I smell like a rabbit, and I’m pretty sure I could sleep for the next month and still feel tired.”

 

Peter processed that for a moment. “A…soul?”

 

“…y’know, that’s a long story.” Peter kept his gaze directed at the ceiling despite feeling Juno’s eyes on him. After a while, Juno continued, “Nureyev, you look like hell.”

 

Peter snorted slightly. “Yes, well, it’s hard to look one’s best when one has spent the past three days uselessly watching another broil their brain with fever.”

 

“Three days?”

 

“Yes.” Peter turned his face to meet Juno’s gaze briefly and added softly “You were quite sick, Juno.” 

 

“Huh.”

 

“Now, I really should get up—“ Peter said, shifting to a sitting position.

 

“Wait.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Just…goddammit. I’m sore, I just dodged death-by-plague, and I’m getting cold again.” Juno looked up at Peter with an uncharacteristic openness. “Peter, I’m tired of this. I’m tired of _us_ and where we are and I’m tired of…of running away because I’m scared of making past mistakes again.”

 

Juno paused, apparently trying to collect his thoughts. Peter sat, frozen, clueless as to what Juno was getting at and tempted to check his forehead for fever. “Look, I know we hashed everything out back on the ship and I know we’re supposed to be moving on, but, dammit. I’m. So. Tired. Of running.” 

 

“Juno, what are you saying?”

 

“I’m saying…what I’m trying to say…” he paused, exhaling deeply before gathering himself. He looked squarely into Peter’s eyes and said, “Peter, I fucked up. I fucked up and you left and I shouldn’t have any chance of changing things and I shouldn’t deserve a chance. But,” he sighed, closed his eye, and mumbled, “I want one anyway.”

 

“A…chance?”

 

“A second one, yeah.”

 

“With me?”

 

“Yeah. I know you’re not there yet and that you may never be. And…that’s okay. I don’t expect you to act on anything I’m saying and I don't want to put any pressure on you. It’s just…this is where I’m at. I’m not running away anymore.” He smiled wryly and added, “At least, not from this.”

 

“Juno, I—“

 

“Look, I’m really tired and—“ he was silenced by Peter’s lips on his own. He remained silenced by that method for several more seconds before he had to break away for air. He looked wrecked, as if the floor had just dropped from beneath him. “Well, that’s…an answer.”

 

“Juno, you fool.” Peter said, unable to hold back what was probably a soppy grin, “When did you get the impression that I had no interest in being with you?”

 

Poor Juno continued to look completely off balance. “That night. After the art gallery. You said you were angry with me.” He spoke haltingly, testing each word like a man on thin ice would test each step.

 

“Yes. I was. But what is anger but a manifestation of hurt? And _past_ hurt and anger does not mean I have no interest in pursuing a relationship _now._ ” He placed his hand fondly on Juno’s cheek. “Juno, we talked about this.”

 

“No, I recall that you waxed poetic. Don’t blame a lady for not being able to follow your flowery language in the middle of the night.”

 

“Well, it appears we both continued to be idiots then.” Then, sobering, Peter asked, “Juno, is this what _you_ want?”

 

Juno just studied Peter’s face for a moment, seeming to drink it in. “Yes, it really is.”

 

“Not to be pedantic, but my biggest fear is that I say or do something that makes you feel coerced. Especially since we seem to have these conversations after you’ve been held captive under dreadful conditions.”

 

“Well then, we better make it stick this time because I don’t think I can survive another round of captivity.” Peter just looked at Juno, who rolled his eye in fond exasperation. “Peter, I am acting under my own free will,” he said with exaggerated solemnity. “Now, get down here. Looking up at you is making my neck hurt again.”

 

Instead of immediately complying, Peter leaned down and kissedJuno gently. Juno reciprocated, humming happily. They broke apart shortly after, Peter lying on his side facing Juno. Juno snuggled closer, yawning. “You know, waking up earlier…that was the warmest I’ve been since coming to this stupid planet.”

 

Peter hummed and shifted slightly closer. “Outer Rim planets are typically colder than Solar ones. Given that we all use the same Dome technology, I never quite figured out why.” He hesitated for a second before adding, softly, “It made being an orphan on Brahma quite miserable.”

 

Juno tucked his head further into Peter’s chest. They lay like that, reveling in their shared warmth, for several minutes. Just when Peter was sure Juno had fallen back to sleep, he asked, “Nureyev?”

 

“Yes, Juno?”

 

“This close, I can hear your stomach rumbling.”

 

“Yes. A minor effect of spending several days worried out of one’s mind I suppose.” Then, voice sombering, he added, “I’m okay. You need to rest and I can stand to miss another meal.”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not that dependent on my human hot water bottle,” he teased. “And, anyway, I think I might be hungry, too?” He sounded confused, as if he had been anticipating that he’d never feel hungry again.

 

“Well, in that case, you stay here and I’ll prepare us something to eat.”

 

“No, I should probably get up, too.” He slowly started to lever himself upright. “I’m dying for a shower.”

 

Peter got up and assisted Juno in standing, briefly taking on a bit more of his weight as he seemed to fight down a bout of dizziness. “You are certain you won’t fall in the shower?”

 

“Yes, mom.” He made his way—slowly, but unassisted—to the bathroom, calling over his shoulder, “Just…ignore any embarrassing crashes or shouts of surprise.”

 

————————————————————————————

 

Juno’s shower was quick, which Peter assumed was necessitated by exhaustion and weakness. Still, by the time Juno had emerged, clothed in the clean sweats Peter had left out for him and toweling his hair dry, Peter had replaced the sheets on the bed with clean ones, started a load of laundry, and had their food nearly ready. 

 

“Oatmeal again, huh?” asked Juno, groaning slightly as he lowered himself slowly into the chair at the table. “I’m suspecting that you’re a one-trick pony in the kitchen, Nureyev.”

 

Peter sniffed loftily. “Oatmeal is warm, nutritious, and easy on a stomach that hasn’t seen food in nearly four days.”

 

“Fine,” Juno conceded. After a few spoonfuls, he said, with enough gravitas that Peter was certain that he was referring to more than the simple fare, “Thanks, Nureyev.” 

 

“Of course, Juno.”

 

They ate in silence for a bit before Juno asked, “So…I was thinking and something doesn’t add up.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Why are you here?”

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“You said, back when you got me out of that hellhole, that I was the only one of us left on the planet when the Strat Net was deployed. So why are you here?”

 

“Ah. Well, I’m here because I hijacked a shuttle and flew back to the planet. The Strat Net lets things come onto the planet without issue, after all.”

 

Juno looked genuinely taken aback. “Why?”

 

“I’m not certain of the science behind it, but I think it has something to do with magnetic fields—“

 

“No, Nureyev. You know what I mean. Why the hell would you come back to a planet that you’ll probably never get to leave?”

 

Peter met Juno’s eye evenly. “Juno, dear. You know why.”

 

“It’s just…I _know_ why, but that doesn’t make it _any_ less stupid. What about the stars and the planets, ‘each one more beautiful than then last’ or however you phrased it?”

 

“Yes, and, if you recall, I said I looked forward to experiencing those places with you.”

 

“Sure, but is _this_ worth it? For god’s sake, Nureyev, we might be spending the rest of our _lives_ here.”

 

“Maybe. And I would still count myself among the luckiest beings in the galaxy if I could do so with you.”

 

Juno deflated slightly. “You’re such a sap.”

 

Peter placed his elbow on the table and his chin in his palm. “Yes,” he said, smiling at Juno, mostly just to watch him blush. 

 

“Just to be clear,” he continued, doggedly ignoring the flush on his face, “we don’t have a plan to leave?”

 

“No, I’m afraid not. That’s the sinister beauty of technology as advanced as the Strat Net: it’s controlled remotely. Anything we launch would be disintegrated by its laser system well before it could reach the support structures and it has enough shielding that it would take an entire armada to destroy the net from the outside. Our only hope would be to destroy its command center on the actual planet that deployed it. I think it’s safe to say that such an endeavor would be entirely out of our ability.”

 

“What are the chances that another planet is pissed off enough to help us?”

 

“Unfortunately, Outer Rim planets are quite reclusive. They keep to themselves lest they become the target of another. Phosphic Five became a target after they abolished their oligarchy, embraced interstellar commerce with the Solar Planets, and started to become quite prosperous. Such success, for some reason, is viewed as a threat by their neighbor planets and, hence, the sabotage. Though,” he added, “I suspect Calcia had help from someone within the Solar planet system.”

 

Juno scrubbed his hand over his face tiredly. “What are we going to do?”

 

Peter shrugged. “Live. Make the best of it. Do what we can to find a loophole in the technology, which will hopefully get us back to space. But, for now, you are going back to bed.” It was a relief to have Juno awake, conversant, and fever-free, but he still had the pale, gaunt look of recent illness and the bags under his eyes were evidence that, despite spending several days in bed slipping in and out of consciousness, that time had been far from restful.

 

“‘M fine,” Juno rebutted.

 

Peter knew arguing would just cause Juno to resist more. He decided to take another approach. “Yes, but _I_ am quite tired.” He stood and started to walk to the bedroom. “I believe a nap is in order. Of course, you’re free to join me if you wish.”

 

Several minutes after he had climbed into clean sheets, Juno was snuggled around him, snoring lightly. 

 

——————————————————————————————

 

Something woke Peter from a deep slumber. It was a second before he realized that the ambient sounds from outside the bedroom window were louder than usual, though still muffled so it was difficult to tell the nature of the noise. He carefully disentangled himself from Juno, who shifted slightly but remained asleep, and went to the window to look outside.

 

On first glance, it appeared that there was rioting in the streets, however, when Peter looked closer, the mass of people didn’t appear to be engaging in violent or destructive actions. Rather, it looked as if they were…celebrating?

 

He moved quickly to the living room and turned the TV on and quickly lowered the volume. It didn’t take long to find a channel covering the breaking news. He sat back on his heels, unbelieving. 

 

Then, his comms—which had remained silent since he had arrived on Phosphic Five—started to beep. He leapt to his feet and answered the call.

 

A few minutes later, he’d pocketed their forged documents, grabbed the warmest jacket he could find, and went to rouse Juno. 

 

——————————————————————————

 

The buzz of adrenaline at discovering that the Strat Net had fallen, augmented by being able to speak with Buddy over the comms, had started to fade several minutes after the shuttle had lifted off. Juno, nestled at his side, had fallen asleep nearly as soon as they had sat down. Peter staved off his own exhaustion by observing those around him: a mother hugging an infant closely while the toddler at her side babbled excitedly, a young woman absentmindedly toying with the ring around her finger, a young man tenderly assisting a frail older one. Relief and hope permeated the atmosphere.

 

Given that Peter had spent the majority of the past month frantically trying to find and then free Juno, he hadn’t had the opportunity to truly appreciate how many foreigners had been trapped on Phosphic Five by the Strat Net.

 

The flight from the underground biosphere to the exospheric space-ports took about an hour. The landing was smooth and Peter waited until the sealed doors opened before lightly shaking Juno awake. 

 

“Mmm?”

 

“Juno, we’re here.”

 

“Oh. Tha’s good.” He was clearly trying to keep his eye open. 

 

“Come on, walking will help wake you up,” Peter said, fondly.

 

His prediction was accurate and by the time they had left the shuttle, Juno was walking under his own power, though Peter kept his hand at the small of his back to help guide him through the crowd and to keep them from being separated. 

 

Juno was slowly looking around. “Did they say they were going to meet us here or—“

 

“MISTA’ STEEL!!!”

 

“Huh. I guess they are. Oh shi—“ Peter felt the muscles in Juno's lower back tense as he braced himself a split second before a brightly colored, petite blur threw itself into him. Peter caught Juno as he started to stumble back.

 

“Mista’ Steel, oh my god I missed you so much and I was so worried I’d never see you again ‘cause of that stupid net and I’m _so_ sorry it took so long to get you back and now that you’re here I ain’t never gonna let you out of my sight _again_ mister and I’m gonna find one of them tracking devices and sew it to your coat or somethin’ just in case you _do_ get out of my sight but—“

 

“Rita!” Juno gasped.

 

Rita stopped suddenly, mid-sentence. “Yeah, boss?”

 

Peter, a bit alarmed at how pale Juno had gone, gently pried Rita’s arms off of Juno’s ribcage. “I know an engineer on the Lunar Colony who has perfected nanobot tracking technology. I can put you in contact with him. But, Rita, dear, it would only be useful if Juno doesn’t suffocate before then.”

 

“Oh, sorry, boss.”

 

“S’okay,” he wheezed. Then, taking a deeper breath, “Thanks Rita. I missed you, too.”

 

Peter wasn’t sure he’d ever heard such bald sincerity from Juno. Before he could dwell on such a development, Juno continued, “But if _either_ of you so much as steps foot on Luna with intent to LoJack me, you can bet that I’ll spend every ounce of energy I have in leading you on a galactic goose chase purely out of spite.”

 

“Whatever you say, boss,” Rita chirped, happily. She looked at him a bit more critically and then reached her arms forward again, wrapping her hands around his ribs. “Boss, you sure got skinny since I last saw you.” She sounded worried.

 

“Yeah. They call it the Phosphic diet. I wouldn’t recommend it,” he said, stepping out of her reach. “Is our ship here?”

 

“Yeah, it’s docked several locks away.”

 

Juno sighed in relief. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go home.”

 

Rita’s grin was huge as she grabbed Juno’s hand and started leading him through the crowded port. Juno glanced backwards, eye tired but—for the first time since discovering him in the Phosphic prison—bright with happiness. He extended his hand towards Peter.

 

Peter took it and couldn’t help but let his thoughts linger on the word _home_.

 

———————————————————————

 

“And so _then_ I was able to break into the Strat Net system and hit it with a virus _so powerful_ that the entire thing now thinks it’s a coffee maker. And not one of those really fancy coffee makers, neither. I mean the kind of coffee maker that only has an on-off button.”

 

Juno and Peter just stared at Rita. Eventually, Peter cleared his throat and clarified, “You…dismantled the entire Calcia government just to bring down their Strat Net system?”

 

Buddy breezed by, plucking Juno’s and Peter’s empty plates from the ship’s kitchen table. “Well, darling, it wasn’t _just_ to rescue you two. The Calcia government—if it could be called that—was an autocratic nightmare. We met with interested parties whom we felt would prioritize the well-being of Calcians over their own personal interests and helped them overthrow their government with the condition that they form an alliance with Phosphic Five. Hopefully this will be the start of an Outer Rim federation of planets who embrace democratic principles.” Buddy disappeared into the kitchen, ladened with the dinner dishes.

 

“Yeah, it’s actually pretty easy to bring down a government usin’ their computers against ‘em,” chimed in Rita. 

 

Peter leaned closer to Juno and whispered, “Remind me to never get on her bad side.”

 

Buddy came back out, carrying two steaming mugs, which she placed in front of Juno and Peter. “Now that you’ve heard what we’ve been up to these past few weeks, I’m curious what you two did, planetside,” she requested, sitting back down at the table.

 

“Well, I’m not sure what there is to tell,” Peter replied as he watched Juno sniff the beverage and sip it tentatively, “We were quite unable to do anything useful while the Net was active.”

 

Vespa, who had been sitting quietly during the recounting of their escapades, asked bluntly, “Why does Juno look like death?” 

 

“Wow, aren’t you a sweetheart.” Juno retorted.

 

“An’ more skinny, too!” accused Rita. “Oh! And he’s actually drinking tea! Without complainin’! Somethin’ really major must’a happened down there.”

 

Juno hunched further into himself, the effect amplified by the oversized hoodie he still wore. “It’s warm, okay? At this point, I’ll drink anything that’s above room temperature.”

 

“You’re dodging the question, Steel,” Vespa pressed.

 

“Look,” Juno sighed, “I spent most of that month in a Phosphic prison,” Rita drew breath to speak, but Juno continued, quickly, “which I _don’t_ want to talk about, and the rest was spent with me sick, which I _can’t_ talk about since I don’t remember much.” He jerked his head in Peter’s direction. “Ask him. He was there for that second part.”

 

Peter looked at Vespa and merely said, “Scrag.” 

 

She nodded grimly and stood. “Well, Steel, sounds like you bought yourself a medical exam.”

 

“Can’t it wait ’til morning?” Juno asked. Peter had to admit, he looked utterly exhausted. 

 

“No, but I’ll be quick.”

 

“Fine. As long as I don’t have to sleep in the infirmary.”

 

Vespa shrugged noncommittally. “As long as I don’t find anything that might kill you in the next several hours, than sure.”

 

“Well, we left the entire HCPD behind on Mars, so I think that’s covered.” He made no move to stand and instead asked, “Hey, uh, can I have a minute with Rita?”

 

“Of course, darling,” said Buddy, “I need to relieve Jet from Bridge Duty. Have a good night.”

 

“I’ll walk with you,” Peter said, standing as well. He let his hand rest briefly on Juno’s shoulder, giving it a quick, gentle squeeze before following her out into the hall.

 

They walked for a bit—the crew quarters being in the same general direction as the bridge—before Buddy pointed out, “You don’t look remarkably healthy either, dear.”

 

“I suspected, but it’s nothing several good nights’ sleep won’t solve.”

 

Buddy hummed in agreement. “He must have been quite ill,” she said, softly.

 

“He was,” Peter admitted. 

 

“And, I can’t help but notice but the two of you seem…different.”

 

“Buddy—“

 

“No, I know,” Buddy said, cutting him off, “It’s none of my business and I never meant to pry, but it was quite obvious that you two have a history of some sort. I hope I’m not being too premature in making this comment, but I’m glad to see that you’ve worked past something.”

 

Peter remained silent.

 

Buddy continued. “Despite whatever you two suffered from physically in the time it took us to rescue you, you both look…happier, I suppose.” She smiled and lay a warm hand on his arm. “It’s a good look on you.”

 

Peter smiled, sincerely. “Thank you, Buddy.”

 

———————————————————————————————

 

A knock at his door woke him. He couldn’t help but note a trend and wondered if he would ever get the opportunity to wake up naturally without something interrupting his slumber.

 

He was pleasantly surprised to see Juno standing outside his door when he got up to open it. 

 

“Sorry to wake you, Nur-Aleph.” 

 

“No apology needed, Juno. Please, come in.” 

 

Juno began to babble as soon as the door shut behind him. “It’s just…I couldn’t sleep and I _know_ we talked about everything, about _us,_ but I was…sick and you were probably worried out of your goddamn mind, so I don’t blame you for anything you said that you’d like to take back—“

 

“Juno.” Juno paused and met Peter’s eyes for the first time since stepping into the room. Peter took a seat on his bed and patted the area next to him, “Please, sit with me.” Juno relented, keeping some space between them. Peter sighed and placed his arm around Juno’s shoulders, tugging him into his side.

 

They sat like that for a moment, just sharing space and body heat. Then, Peter continued, “Juno, I meant every word I said back on Phosphic Five. I would have meant it had you been perfectly healthy or, heavens forbid, had you actually been on your deathbed.”

 

“Oh,” Juno said, quietly. 

 

“And, of course, I will happily repeat it as many times as you need to hear it, darling.” He squeezed Juno into a brief sideways hug and dropped a kiss to the top of his head. At some point, it appeared he had taken a shower as his hair was still slightly damp and smelled of shampoo. He felt Juno’s slight nod in understanding.

 

“Now, I suspect there is more to this visit than having me confirm just how much I adore you?”

 

Juno turned his face further into Peter’s shoulder, muffling something that sounded suspiciously like, “You’re ridiculous.”

 

“I’m sorry?” Peter asked, grinning.

 

Juno removed his face from Peter's shirt and said, “I…couldn’t sleep.”

 

“Oh? I suspect you’re suffering from a lack of—what was your phrase?—a ‘human hot water bottle?’”

 

Juno shrugged, obviously trying for nonchalance. “Yeah, could be.”

 

“There is one way to test the theory.” Peter stood and pulled back his covers. “After you, my dear.” Juno tugged his shoes off and slid into the bed. Peter followed and wasted no time curling up behind Juno and wrapping his arms around his front. He was proud that he did not recoil when Juno’s ice-cold feet found their way between his calves.

 

“Is this better?”

 

Juno hummed. “Yeah.” Then, after a moment, “Thanks, Peter.”

 

“Of course, Juno.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> TWs:  
> —Imprisonment in a foreign prison (mentioned), unable to speak the native language  
> —Description of illness, specifically cyclic fevers
> 
>  
> 
> Fun fact: the first version of Scrag was called “Uranus Pox” in my notes because I am actually three years old.
> 
> Fun fact 2: This was really hard to write and I could probably mess with it for years and never be happy with it. However, the need for closure—and the need to make it up to those of you who read the first fic in this series and were left dissatisfied—outweighed my frustration with this entire piece, so I stuck with it because I’m a very stubborn three-year-old. 
> 
> By the way, I love comments like a three-year-old loves eating Play-Doh.


End file.
